


Mid || Night

by Haiju



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Family, Gen, dissection fic, nonlinear storytelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-08 13:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haiju/pseuds/Haiju
Summary: Deep in the night, Danny wakes up on a table under the knife. But is everything what it seems? A twist on the dissection genre.





	1. Don't Move

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Derpyscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Derpyscribbles).



* * *

:: 8 minutes ::

* * *

 

Danny swam out of blackness into ice and fire. A molten fist twisted into the raw nerve endings of his chest. He gasped, and tasted a weird antiseptic burn. Cold. Blistering cold and a sick sense of  _ wrongness.  _ Something held his arms stretched over his head and kept his legs flat.  He tipped his chin down, the only motion he seemed capable of, and instantly wished he hadn’t. Instead of his familiar jumpsuit, he was met by pulsing masses of green swimming in red liquid. Black gloves reaching  _ inside  _ him blocked his line of sight. He flinched, jerking in the restraints. 

“Don’t move.” 

Mom’s voice. Short and taut. 

He felt a sickening pressure somewhere below his throat and under his breastbone, and then something  _ moved _ . Fear and betrayal twisted in his gut. Tears prickled in his eyes.

_Jerk. Twist._ Energy darted up his body, drenching him in icy sweat--suddenly hot, suddenly dizzy and faint and ready to vomit. A raw iron smell filled his nose. A muttered curse. The hands groped, pulled. He felt a flow of warmth through his limbs, then-- _jerk, twist_ \--warmth vanished.

“--please-- stop --” The words barely choked past his lips. He shook so hard his teeth rattled. “--ple--ase--”

“I’m trying sweetie,” she said. To who? Dad? The glaring light made the world around him a well of blackness. “It’s in deep.”

* * *

:: 2 minutes ::

* * *

 

Maddie sat alone in the lab, fiddling with the innards of some device and running through the most creative curses her inventive mind could muster on all things that existed in Wisconsin. Great lakes. The packers. Cheese. Asshole millionaires. Her wayward husband. 

She set the tools down with a bang and glared at the photo of Jack pinned to the corkboard behind her desk. Jack’s image grinned back, blue-eyed and unshakably happy.  _ Why  _ was he such a big-hearted optimist? Why couldn’t he see that Vlad was self-centered and conniving at best, dangerous at worst?

All the gilded invitations in the world wouldn’t sway her to set foot in that ridiculous castle of a house. Danny had volunteered at the last minute to tag along; more to keep an eye on his father than any desire to revisit the Masters household, she suspected, but really neither of them should have gone. She wouldn’t be happy until all the Fentons were back, safe, underneath their own roof.

A thud sounded upstairs. Maddie glanced up, cautious and curious. Her hand strayed to the ectogun sitting on the table. Jazz had gone to the store. Danny and Jack were--unfortunately--still in Wisconsin. What could…

She stood up to investigate, but before she could take a step, Phantom appeared  _ through  _ the ceiling. He drifted down, not quite falling, and she had plenty of time to take in his ripped jumpsuit, his face and arms covered in scratches, a spectacular black eye. He glowed like a beacon in the mostly-dark lab.

Training the ectogun on the ghost, Maddie waited, watchful. Whatever this was, she wasn’t fooled. Phantom must be up to something.

Vivid green eyes locked on hers. He had such a wide-eyed, desperate look that it made her pause.  “Mom-- _ help _ \--”

Maddie faltered. “What?”

The ghost boy bucked and curled in on himself, red lightning arcing out of his chest and racing across his limbs. He let out a ragged yell. There was a bright flash that left Maddie blinking spots out of her eyes, then the ghost’s body went dark and dropped with a thud onto the hard laboratory floor.

Maddie raised her ectogun, willing her eyes to readjust to the sudden change in light. What came into focus was a crumpled green sweatshirt, dirty jeans, red sneakers, a mass of messy black hair. The sweatshirt had 13 emblazoned across the back. A shiver ran through Maddie; her heart pounded as she crept closer, ectogun clutched in her hands even though she knew  _ exactly  _ who it was.

The boy… ghost? ...person lay face down, one arm folded under his body, unmoving. 

“Danny?” she ventured softly. 

Maddie thought she heard a moan in response. Her hesitations crumbled. She threw aside the ectogun and dashed over to the boy’s side. Grabbing his shoulders--warm, definitely human--she rolled him over gently. Danny. The same black eye she’d just seen on Phantom bruised his face, in shades of red and purple now instead of green; that was the only color in his stark white face. His breath came in short, shuddering gasps. The eyelid over his good eye fluttered.

“Danny? Danny, honey?” Maddie cradled his head and looked him up and down, searching for what--how -- this had happened. Wasn’t he in Wisconsin? And--wasn’t it Phantom who had fallen through the ceiling ten seconds ago?

She didn’t have time to process the thought. Danny stopped breathing. She yanked off her heavy hazmat glove and felt at his neck. A faint, erratic beat met her fingertips. His lips tinged blue.

“Oh no you don’t,” Maddie snapped. She ran for the defibrillator they kept beside the stairs. Her baby wasn’t dying on her watch.

* * *

::15 seconds::

* * *

 

The salty cold air off Lake Erie hit Danny’s left cheek as he raced over the treetops, the only sign that he was still flying the right direction. He ought to check the stars. The glass embedded in his skin stung, sharp pin pricks against the larger patchwork of pain, but he couldn’t stop to pull them out. He had to keep flying. Get as far as he could before--

Pain. Red light. Falling. Crashing through splintering branches. Shivering in shock as a friction burn blossomed up his leg. The cool night swirled around him. Danny listened to his own heartbeat thunder in his ears--then stutter, then stop.

A moment of sheer vacuum. Sound and light and touch constricted into a tight knot of pain in his chest, a cramping muscle that wouldn’t release.

It roared and stuttered back. 

Danny gasped at the icy November air, shuddering to his core with the knowledge that he’d been dead--actually dead--for a few seconds. He stumbled to his feet and staggered between the trees until he was dragged back into ghost form.

One thought pulled him along, driving him to force his aching body back into the sky, accelerating until the stars streaked silver.

He had to get home.


	2. Get Out

* * *

:: 7 minutes ::

* * *

 

He had to get out. Danny leaned back against the smooth steel wall and swallowed. He tasted metal. His teeth had snapped shut on his tongue earlier and now blood coated the inside of his mouth. His left hand twitched in time to his heartbeat, making a steady tic-tic-tic against the glass door. He was too exhausted to move it away.

 He wouldn’t survive much more of this.

 He’d die here, alone, and his family would never find out what happened to him.

 That thought galvanized him. He shifted his weight forward and fell against the glass. It pressed cool against his forehead, buzzing faintly like a wet battery. He had to break the glass. Ghost powers couldn’t do it, but this wimpy half-dead human might. Danny pressed his fingers into the floor, forcing the twitch to stop, then wormed his hand into the cargo pocket of his pants. There; the miniature blowtorch he’d borrowed off Mom’s work bench.

 He’d brought it along for petty vandalism, but hey. Not dying sounded good too.

 Ghost plasma burned cold, not hot. Ghost proofing wouldn’t hold up against real heat. He hoped. Maybe.

 Shoving himself back again, Danny rested the tip of the torch against the glass and, covering his face with his other arm, switched it on. The little flame hissed and the claustrophobic pod heated up. The air grew suffocating. It reeked with the burnoff of butane. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes. Danny grit his teeth and held the torch steady.

A terrific crack sounded. Sharp pain peppered his arms and legs. Cold fresh air swirled into the pod.

Danny crawled out and his knees hit the floor—not a second too soon, as energy arced over his limbs and yanked at his core. The instant the shock subsided, he was up and flying, going invisible as he streaked through the thick concrete wall, up through the earth beyond and into the woods beyond. Only one person could help him, and she was over a hundred miles away.

 

* * *

:: 5 minutes ::

* * *

 

Everything hurt. Head throbbing, fingers tingling with a painful, prickly numbness.  His chest hurt, like an iron punch to the chest from Skulker’s suit. Had he been fighting Skulker?

That didn’t sound right. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember. There was darkness, a lot of it. Trees, bushes, houses, roads flashing by in streaks of white and red. He’d been flying top speed, because he was running out of time. The urgency had eaten into him, a sharp, biting anxiety. He had to get help—before—

The sound of a phone dialing cut into Danny’s thoughts, yanking him back to the present. For some reason his hazy brain realized that was a very, very bad thing to happen. His eyes flew open. Mom. Mom kneeling next to him, a phone to her ear, the other hand resting on his bare chest, her face pinched with worry and fear.

Fear sent adrenaline spiking through his nerves, setting his numbed limbs buzzing. The electric hum of his core sang a warning at the back of his brain. He licked his lips and tried to grope for her hand—his arm rolled to the side and knocked into her knee.

“Mom… what are you doing?” His voice came out as a strained croak.

She started, eyes fastening on her face. A smile appeared briefly, but it did nothing to ease the worry in her face, or Danny’s growing uneasiness.

“Hey sweetie,” she said softly. Her hand moved up from his chest to stroke his hair. Her fingers were shaking as she did it. That… was not like Mom. Mom  could handle anything. Nothing fazed her, not ghosts, not monsters, not falling out of a plane, so what was she scared of now?

“Who… what are you doing?” Danny said again, stupidly, wishing his brain was actually working. What did she know? What was she thinking? What was going on? He scowled in frustration.

“Calling an ambulance, sweetie.” The hand kept stroking his hair, mechanically. “You’ve been in an accident. You need—”

“No,” he reached for the phone, alarm spiking through his overworked nerves. “Don’t—” A bright green spark erupted from his fingertip and struck the phone. Mom jumped and dropped it as it sizzled, smoke leaking out of the cracked screen. She stared at him wide-eyed.

Danny let his head drop back on the ground and groaned. _Whoops._

“Why would you not want me to do that?” She said it incredibly calmly for someone whose son had just used ghost powers two inches from her head.

He pressed his lips together and stared stubbornly at the ceiling.

“Danny,” she stroked his hair again. “I need to get you help. _Talk to me_.”

So much for secret identities. “...half ghosts don’t mix well with hospitals,” he admitted.

The hand in his hair froze, tensed. “ _Half_ ghost?”

A faint smile wandered onto Danny’s face. “Beware.” He chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a cough. Air refused to come into his lungs. She helped pull him into a sitting position and he hugged his ribs, gasping. “Why does everything hurt?”

“You suffered some kind of electrical shock,” Mom said. “You… phased through the ceiling.” Something in his voice made him sure he wasn’t human at that point. She squeezed his shoulders. “Your heart stopped. I had to resuscitate you.”

His arms were still wearing his shirt and sweatshirt, which hung open down the front. He grasped at the edges of the torn fabric. “Oh.”

Danny glanced around the room and realized he didn’t know what time it was. His heart raced. That internal countdown, his best estimate of the minutes in between, has gotten lost somewhere between hitting the floor and waking back up. How much time did he have?

 “What time is it? How long was I out?”

 “I don’t know,” Her voice trembled. He looked up at her, startled, and realized there were actual tears in her eyes. Oh, man.  “I don’t know, sweetie, I— _how_ can you be half ghost? What does that even mean? What happened to you?”

 Something buzzed inside his chest, like a cell phone vibrating under his breastbone. Danny shuddered, fear spiking through him. It was about to happen _again._ He grabbed mom’s hand. She had to understand. “Listen, Mom—he stuck something in me. It makes me transform—I can’t—”

 White-hot pain burst from his chest and Danny doubled over, gasping. The edges of his vision turned red; red lightning raced down his arms and legs, he felt like something had taken his core and _twisted_ it—cold washed over him and he collapsed onto his side, shivering. Ghost again. Better, in a way; it pushed back the black spots crowding at his vision.

 “I can’t control it,” he rasped. He couldn’t see Mom’s face; he was too tired to lift his head, and the crosscut of teal-clad knees and black boots told him nothing. Her right hand jerked toward the ectogun on her belt; if she decided to shoot him he couldn’t do anything about it. “I can’t phase it out, I tried. You have to help me, Mom. He’s really going to kill me this time.”

 “Who? Danny, who did this?”

 “It’s shredding me—both parts of me.” Danny’s voice cracked. He must sound freaked out. He _was_ freaked out. Terrified. Vlad really didn’t care if he died this time. He’d actually sounded like he’d enjoy that outcome. “Please, mom, I promise I’ll tell you everything—just— _get it out._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo again! Thanks for the reviews and all the kudos, everyone! It's nice to be back in this space, I've missed it. Have you figured out what the numbers mean yet? -Hj


	3. Trust Me

 

* * *

:: b e f o r e ::

* * *

 

“Can you believe it, Vladdie?” Jack didn’t even wait until they got past the front door. “Berkhauser’s pass in the last game broke record air time! That man is a machine!”

“I favor the trick plays myself,” Vlad said, all sleazy smiles as he motioned them inside his stupidly over the top castle. “He is absolutely devious and that’s one quality I admire in a player.”

“He can devious all day, with an arm like that!” Jack clapped Vlad on the back and they went in together, making a beeline for the plush viewing room with its giant HD TV screen. “Now this is how you watch football! Is that wings I smell?”

Danny slouched in after them, his face cemented in a stubborn scowl, eyes fixed on Vlad like a particularly vindictive cat checking out a rat. Vlad would probably put that metaphor backwards. He liked to pretend he always had the upper hand. Danny touched the miniature blowtorch in his pocket and hid a grin.

“Not this time Vladdie,” He muttered under his breath. “I’m ready for all your tricks.”

 

* * *

::12 minutes::

* * *

 

Maddie rarely made snap decisions; she liked to think things through, analyze and consider her options. She liked to know that she was making the right choice. She didn’t have that luxury now.

They had… she glanced at the clock. She’d noted the time as she set up the defibrillator, maybe a minute after he’d changed forms. Two minutes? It had read 10:41. He’d just transformed again. It was 10:55. Fifteen minutes between, maybe. She couldn’t be sure.

“Are the cycles consistent?” Leaving Danny’s side, Maddie strode to her worktable, rummaging through the tools there and sorting out what she needed.

“I think so. It was hard to keep track.” Danny sounded exhausted. He didn’t get up from the floor where she’d left him. The air smelled sour with sweat and blood.

Maddie looked around the room; there: A table at the back— one with built in restraints, which she could just see under all the invention debris, piled there, along with a few empty soda cans. With a sweep of her arm she shoved all of it onto the floor. It crashed and clattered into the shadows.

“Mom?” Danny sounded nervous now. “What are you doing?”

There wasn’t time; if he went human again this wouldn’t work. She had to move fast.

“Sweetie.” Maddie knelt; she took Danny by both shoulders, and tried not to flinch at how cold he felt. She looked him directly in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Danny’s eyes got wide. He nodded slowly.

“Good.” She pulled him into a hug, then slid her arm tight around his throat in a choke hold. He jerked, struggled, and went limp. “Then go to sleep.”

 

* * *

:: 9 minutes ::

* * *

 

Maddie injected the paralysis serum, hating herself for it even though it was completely necessary. That chokehold would only keep him under for a few minutes. If he thrashed while she handled some vital part of his insides, she could kill him. And he’d want to thrash. Danny wouldn’t be able to move, or even speak after a while, but the serum did nothing for pain.

Ghosts didn’t feel pain. It was hardly necessary.

That theory was a lot harder to believe when your teenage son lay there on your own lab table. Maddie didn’t wait for the serum to take full effect; she couldn’t. They only had minutes before the device reactivated.

“I’m so sorry, Danny,” she said, glancing at him. His eyes were still shut; sweat stood in beads on his alien, glowing skin. His aura flickered and warped like a bad fluorescent bulb. He was still out, but not for long. A shudder ran through her and she tore her eyes from his face. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t, if she was really going through with this.

She grasped the zipper of the jumpsuit and yanked it down, exposing Danny to his waist. Pale greenish-white skin became visible. Lean and hairless, a teenager’s chest. A boy’s chest. Maddie shook her head and grasped for blessedly abstract terms like _thorax, sternum, pectoral muscles._ As if it were a cadaver from biology class in college. Picking up a scalpel and taking a deep, slow breath, she cut him, smoothly and quickly, from the jugular notch to the xiphoid process.

She was prepared for the scream—felt the shocked hitch of Danny’s chest before it began—but that didn’t mean it shook her any less. Tears started in her eyes and she blinked them away furiously as she continued the cut, carefully pulling away a layer of skin and muscles that twitched in her hands. The left side of the ribcage lay exposed under a gleaming layer of green tissue, sternum and rib a startling, charcoal black. Bright green oozed up and obscured her view; she wiped it away.

Danny’s cry subsided to a soft, high whine; the paralysis was taking effect. She shut out the sound, closed off every part of her mind except the technical, and picked up the saw.

 

* * *

:: u n k n o w n ::

* * *

 

The big projector screen flickered out and the theater lights came on. Jack grinned and stretched, leaning back in the plush red armchair and downing the last of his beer. The Packers hadn’t won— against the Patriots there wasn’t much of a chance, honestly— but they’d sure put up a brave fight. 

“Vladster, you sure know how to have a party. Even if it’s just the three of us.”

“I think you mean the two of us,” Vlad corrected with a sardonic smile, pointing to Danny’s empty seat. A cold pile of wings still sat on the armrest.

“Never could get Danny into the ole pigskin,” Jack shook his head. “That kid wouldn’t know a linebacker from a tight end. But he sure knows his ghosts! Better than I do sometimes.”

“I can’t imagine,” Vlad said dryly.

“Still...he doesn’t usually leave food half-eaten. And definitely not coke.” Jack poked the mostly-full glass and frowned. Danny was more of a caffeine fiend than even Maddie. Not even boring old football would make him leave behind a perfectly good soda. “You have any idea where he might be, Vladdie? Wouldn’t want him getting lost forever in this swanky setup of yours.”

Vlad stared at him for a long minute. “Actually, Jack? I think I might.” He got up, removed his jersey and lay it neatly over the back of the chair. Of course he had his full-on three piece suit underneath. Vlad was something else, Jack thought with a grin.

Vlad led the way down a hall, around a corner, and through a narrow passageway. He pressed his thumbprint into the wall and a seam opened up, sliding apart to reveal a hidden elevator.

Jack whistled. “Nice! Guess it’s not a castle without a hidden passageway.”

Vlad only smiled and gestured to the glossy silver interior. “After you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yes I'm ignoring the "Danny reverts when he passes out" thing. We'll say whatever's making him transform is also holding him in that state. Enjoy? -Hj

**Author's Note:**

> Do I remember how to write a fic? I guess we're about to find out... I drafted 2/3 of this story way back in 2017, but just couldn't find the energy to finish it up... until now. Wish me luck with the rest! This will be crossposted to FFn shortly. -Hj


End file.
